


I Don't Need Protection

by Little_Knight_Mik



Category: Homestuck
Genre: And doesn't have any shame, Crossdressing, Humanstuck, M/M, More tags to be added, Stalking, Stridercest - Freeform, The rich director is an immature shit, There will be much awkwardness, streaking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Knight_Mik/pseuds/Little_Knight_Mik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You've got seven days, Mr Strider," he says with a smirk. "If you can impress me, tolerate me, and prove you're right for the job, then you're hired."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Eeeeeeeeeh, I hope this comes out okay in the long run -A-" Title might change, if I can think of a better one. All in all, meh *Shrugs* I tried, I guess.

_If there was one thing in the world Davis Lalonde  hated more than anything else, it was being told he was too weak to take care of himself, unable to keep himself out of harm's way, and too worthless in regards to keeping himself from being attacked in public._

_Okay, so maybe Rose hasn't put it in that exact term, but it sure as hell felt like a verbal pimp slap to the face from his foster sister. Not a bitch slap - no, shit had too many big words and snarky, absolutely true remarks that Davis felt like his sister had donned a leapoard print coat and slapped him across the face with her soft, expertly self-manicured hand. Oh wait, that slap actually happened. Fuck. Since when did Rose know how to pimp slap? No, not the point. The point was that he'd just been so humilated and insulted by his younger sister that he felt all shades of embarrassed and shameful. His pride wasn't going to stick around and defend his case; he was pretty sure it'd already booked a hotel in the Bahamas and gave him the bird as it drove away in an expensive as fuck car. The fucker._

_Rose was demanding his attention; Roxy - the good sister; the sister who always came to his rescue in her usual drunken stumble - was trying to hold her back, telling her that Davis just got royally owned by a "lesser entertainer", as he had so eloquently put it not even five minutes ago, and apparently it was enough to get Rose to sit back down in her chair. She fixed her jacket, inspected her nails. Davis rubbed his cheek, pouting, and held back the venomous complaint sitting at the tip of his tongue._

_The idea that was pissing him off was one that involved him getting a personal bodyguard. While on most days he felt like he could give his lesser responsibilities to a buff asshole in a monkey suit, Davis was feeling more than insulted in light of recent events. Sure, getting shot was a thing that happened in America, and sure, celebrities were usually free from that fact. Usually. But the fact that one bullet to the thigh - one bullet on the red carpet premiere of his greatest sequel to SBaHJ, which had barely left him with a limp and missed the bone  and important arteries - was enough to convince Rose that Davis needed help was just beyond humiliating to him._

_"Honestly," she said with a growl. "What would mother say if she caught wind of this?"_

_Ignoring the fact that Rose had waged a passive-aggressive war on their mother for about twenty years before the big C took her away last year, Davis sighed. "Honestly?" Rose nodded. Roxy grinned, preparing herself for a doozie. "I think she'd be too busy making me chicken noodle soup and fussing over my nonexistent limp to notice how 'rash' and 'irresponsible' I'm being."_

_Smack! Right across the face, shades flying to the other side of the room._

_"What the hell!? You wanted my honest opinion!"_

_"Perhaps I should have worded it better! Tell me, Davis, what is your rational opinion about the events of the past two weeks? What is your tiny, neglected, undernourished voice of reason telling you about your level of safety? Perhaps you would like to rap it out, like you always do, and then ramble endlessly about how you're so mature at twenty-five and you already have enough money to keep you afloat if your next movie flops? Or perhaps we could all paint our nails, watch the Princess Diaries movies back-to-back before gossiping about boys we like - and, in extension of the most heart-wrenching kind, boys we hope like us back? I'm sure your attacker fits into that category, correct? Or am I being a deranged, psychoanalysing flighty broad again?"  
_

_He went on to argue, but was quickly cut off._

_"Davis, sweetie," Roxy said sweetly. "Can you just give it a try for a while? If we can't find a bodyguard for you, then we'll let it drop and you can go about being your usual self."_

_He agreed reluctantly. Very reluctantly._

_"It's a good thing I have a detailed list with me, then." Rose reached into her purse and pulled out three folded sheets of paper. Rows of names, all in alphabetical order, were all Davis could see. He looked up at Rose, gave her the best disappointed expression he could muster, and shook the papers accusingly._

_Didn't stop her from pointing to the first name and saying, "Get to it, brother."_

* * *

And that's how he ended up here, staring down the second random name he picked on the list. Bro Strider, smack-bang in the middle of the S section.

In all honesty, Davis isn't too fond of him. He's trying to figure out a foolproof way of getting rid of him, such as he had with the last seven, but this douche is barely even giving him anything to go by. His expression, or lack thereof, made Davis want to punch him in the gut just to see if he makes the sound of air rushing out of a balloon, and his stupid suit makes him look like he belongs in a God damn action movie. And where the fuck is his tie?

Five minutes of silence passes, the two men staring at each other through their glasses. Davis almost sneered when he'd first seen this "Bro" character's choice of eyewear, but managed to keep his lips sealed for the sake of looking like he wasn't going to take any shit from this asshole. But seriously, fucking triangles? They look like something a mascot for advanced trig would wear.

Another two minutes passes, and Davis finally gives him a small, obviously fake smile. "Mr Strider," he begins. Bro raises a brow, waiting for him to go on. Well, at least he doesn't interrupt like the last one did. Ah, Vaas. You won't be missed. "Your resume says you're quite skilled in your own custom style of swordplay. That's quite the feat for someone who's only had one job prior to this one. You must've had a lot of spare time on your hands."

He's hoping it sounds insulting. He's not sure what he can do with just words on paper, honestly.

Bro doesn't seem upset but his remark. Barely even fucking twitches. "What can I say?" he says easily, voice deeper (and admittedly filled with more of a sexy Southern accent) than Davis had expected. "It's a hobby I take t'heart, among other things."

He doesn't elaborate. Davis raises a brow at him. Still no elaboration. Okay, then. So he's one of  _those_ people.

"And your last job was DJing?"

"Current job," Bro corrects. Davis tries not to twitch. Bro notices, if that smirk is anything to go by. "I promised the manager I'd come back if being a bodyguard was a bust, and I never really handed in my resignation letter."

Was that boastful? It sounds boastful. Damn it, Davis can't tell if it's boastful. Fuck this guy and his  ~~sexy~~ monotonous Southern drawl.

"I see." Davis resists the urge to crack his knuckles and fix his glasses. He stays stock still, just as Bro does. This is slowly turning into a battle of keeping still, unlike the other six. Especially whatshisface. Good ol' fidgety whatshisface. "And I'm to understand you know why I'm looking for a personal bodyguard." He swears, if this asshole says,  _You were shot at your last premiere and the culprit was never found_ , Davis will flip the coffee table.

He gets a shrug first. "Aside from the blaringly obvious reason?  _You_ aren't lookin' for one. Not willingly, at least."

That's new.

How does he go on from that?

God damn it, he was just getting ready to attack the quality mahogany, too.

"How do you figure?" is all he asks. Bro smirks again, and Davis makes a mental note:  _Likes knowing he's right. Probably has a huge ass ego._

"Well, your last bodyguards only lasted under a week of work, all of 'em leavin' of their own reasons. Well, all but one, at least. Apparently he was fired for tryin' t'organise your office?" No one touches the office.  _No one_. "So I can only assume you've been actin' like a difficult, immature shit in order to  _make_ 'em leave."

Davis finally allows himself to twitch, his eyebrow dipping slightly before settling back into place. "Someone's been doing his research."

"No need t'research when I'm just good at readin' people." Okay, that one was boastful. "And from your decision to ignore my disrespectful way of speakin' t'my possible employer, I'm gonna go ahead and assume you plan on hirin' me just to see me throw in the towel by the end of the week."

Bingo. He's right. Davis doesn't give two shits so long as he can effectively piss this guy off and make him leave with his tail between his legs. And he'll be fucked if he doesn't pull out the big guns for this one. Bro Strider will be messed up by the time Davis is done with him.

Okay, maybe he won't be messed up, but he'll be avoiding the hell out of anything to do with Davis for a long time.

"Alright."

Bro doesn't seem shocked. "What's the time limit, then?" he mocks. "How long have I got to prove that your bullshit won't get in the way of my job?"

"You've got seven days, Mr Strider," he says with a smirk. "If you can impress me, tolerate me, and prove you're right for the job, then you're hired."

The two shake hands, Bro begins to leave, and Davis is immediately pulling his phone out of his pocket to text Rose. She demanded he let her know when interviews were over, and today's was no exception. She hadn't been happy that he'd skipped a whole two pages, but she can get the hell over it.

He shoots off a quick,  **deed is done prepare for some southern charm coming from all angles** , and her reply is almost immediate.

**You'd better not make this one run off like the others. I have no qualms in slapping some sense into you again, Davis.**

Davis raises a brow, frowning at her message, and sighs when he hears Bro close the door behind him. Soon Davis's assistant will give Bro his address, and he'll be seeing him smack bang at nine tomorrow. He's already thinking up multiple plans in order to get him out, and one is definitely standing out above the rest as a first day shocker.

**im on my best behavior scouts honor**

Another immediate reply.

**Bullshit. You've already got at least fifteen methods of getting rid of him. I can only assume half of them involve Roxy and I.**

Pfft. Nope. Only two. Ah, Rose, you're losing your touch. Davis doesn't mention this, though. He instead ends the conversation with,  **w/e im hungry talk later** , then switches off his phone and tucks it back into his pocket. He can deal with Rose later, after Bro is scrambling out the front door in an attempt to keep his sanity.

Huh. All this thought of scaring him away reminds Davis of something. But what...? He knows it's a movie he's heard of, but he can't place it. Damn. It'll come to him eventually; he's in no rush.

Right now he needs to get some AJ and pizza, stat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling slightly let-down, but expertly keeping it under wraps, Davis steps aside and let's Bro walk in. Once again they're in silence, much like their interview, and Davis can't help but feel awkward when he closes the door behind Bro. The taller man is looking around, probably taking in Davis's belongings. Probably judging him, too.
> 
> Oh God, what if he can psychoanalyse like Rose can?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to BLEHH for helping me come up with Davis's methods of getting rid of Bro. You're awesome for putting up with my plotting, too *Bows*

His phone lets out its signature alarm chime, waking him up to the sound of  _Girl's Just Wanna Have Fun_. It's been his alarm tone ever since the one drunk outing where he lost his phone, but he's never really thought of changing it. He can relate to it somehow - Rose his always on his ass, telling him to shape his shit up, while all he wants to do is have fun and live his life like the curious teenager he is.

It's half past eight - about half an hour before Bro arrives for his first day of work. Davis doesn't plan on going out anywhere, so he can narrow his plan down to just one method: Streaking.

He's more than certain he can pull it off - he's not exactly full of shame when it comes to displaying himself, and he really could not give a fuck if this guy decides to leak the information to the tabloids or something. By now they've come to expect it - especially after Wallace's tearful live interview about Davis's stickey notes all over the house.

Now that he thinks about it, it's probably best that Wallace never mentioned the ones hinting toward murder and assassination. Man, that would've gone down messy.

After a quick twenty minute shower, Davis towels himself off and prepares to put his plan into action. He makes sure the air conditioner is turned off - thank God for a warm day such as this one - and puts his shades on, smirking to himself in the hallway mirror. He can't remember the last time he streaked around the house, but he does know it was yet another of his drunken shenanigans. Roxy had been involved, the pool seemed like heaven on that particular summer day, and Rose had been sure to scold them both when they woke up the next morning with colds. Was it last summer? The summer before? He can't remember... Maybe Roxy can. Hell, Rose would remember best.

Allowing himself a short, maniacal laugh, he practically bounds down the stairs when he hears the ring of his doorbell. He stumbles a little on the last few steps, muttering curses under his breath when the scar on his thigh starts to sting, and decides he'll have to take things slow today. He's got no other choice, unless he wants to get the walking cane from the back of his closet.

Actually... He adds that to the list of methods: Use walking cane to poke Bro whenever he fucks up, minor mistake or not.

Davis doesn't deny being an annoying shit when he wants to be.

He opens the door with a straight face, trying to look like this is a common occurrance in his home, and nods to Bro lightly. Bro's standing there, hands in his pockets, once again without a tie, and still sporting his triangle shades. Davis resists the urge to knock them off and snap them in half.

"Mornin', Mr Lalonde," Bro says casually. He tilts his head as though he's looking past Davis, into the house, and somehow the director feels a little let down. He's not getting much of a reaction from the first twenty seconds. "May I come in?"

Feeling slightly let-down, but expertly keeping it under wraps, Davis steps aside and let's Bro walk in. Once again they're in silence, much like their interview, and Davis can't help but feel awkward when he closes the door behind Bro. The taller man is looking around, probably taking in Davis's belongings. Probably judging him, too.

Oh God, what if he can psychoanalyse like Rose can?

"Paintin's crooked."

Davis jumps slightly, looking to the painting Bro is pointing to. Sure enough, it's tilted slightly to the left. Huh. He'd never noticed that before. He tells him he'll fix it later, waving him off, and begins to make his way through to the kitchen. Davis offers him coffee, which he happily accepts.

The two stand there for a good ten minutes, sipping at their coffees as the minutes tick by. Davis can't help but wonder what's going on through Bro's mind at this moment, because the fact that his face isn't even looking in the general direction of his junk, more so that he hasn't meantioned it, is something to be fearful of. Clearly Davis chose the wrong thing to do on the first day.

Not that he'll admit that out loud, of course; he's a fucking genius to the public, and no one can know of his fumbles.

"You half-assed it."

Once again he jumps, this time glancing over at Bro to see what he meant. Bro nods to his face, sipping his coffee before going on, "You half-assed the attempt to get rid of me. Seriously, Mr Lalonde, if you're gonna streak, at least get rid of  _everythin'_  you wear."

"What do you mean 'everything'?" Davis demands. He gestures to himself, raising a brow. "I'm in my fucking birthday suit - how much more 'everything' can I get rid of?"

Bro nods, choosing now of all times to actually direct his attention to Davis's dick. "Really? I hadn't noticed - your fuckin' shades are so overfilled with ego that I thought you were still dressed in one of your douchebag suits." He shrugs, feining innocence. "My mistake."

More silence passes, and it takes about twelve (uncomfortable) seconds before Bro finally returns his gaze to the fridge and leaves Davis to his thoughts.

Okay, so apparently walking around in the nude doesn't count because of a pair of sunglasses? The fuck kind of logic is that? Davis frowns to himself slightly, wondering if he should've left the streaking for another day. He'd been hoping to get rid of Bro right at the doorstep - hoping he'd see him in all his glory, turn the fuck around, and let out a chorus of, "Nope". Apparently he'd done it wrong, though.

 _Fuck him_ , Davis thinks to himself.  _I'm seeing this shit through till the end. Asshole can put up with it for the rest of the day. I won't even take off my shades - not gonna give him the satisfaction of being right._

"Whatever." He finishes his coffee, the drink surprisingly cool despite being made not long ago. "I'm gonna go watch some TV. You just do whatever it is your job requires you to." Davis then makes a shooing motion before dropping the mug into his sink; he hurries to the living room, switches on the TV, and settles on the couch to enjoy the warm day.

* * *

The fucker turned the air conditioner on.

Hadn't set it, hadn't tampered with it; no, he just switched it on and let it do its weird automatic temperature adjustment shit.

The two sit quietly in their seats, Davis resisting the urge to cross a leg over his lap and fold his arms in front of him. Bro hasn't said a word since he sat down, but he can feel him glancing at him every so often. He's trying to see if Davis will crack, and God damn is it going to happen soon.

A shiver runs through him, and he almost shudders from the cool breeze hitting them directly, but he manages to force it down. Well, with a bit of difficultly, he did. All the action does is make Bro smirk, though.

"See, your first mistake was doin' this on the first day," he begins. Davis groans and rolls his eyes, allowing himself to cross his arms. "The fact that I didn't respond like your other applicants was enough of a hint about needin' to learn some shit about what might get me out the door faster. You were impatient and went straight for the tactic that would get rid of most people in the first five minutes.

"Second mistake was failin' to have your sisters look me up - or even lookin' up my name yourself. You'd at least know why I don't give a fuck about some asshole's dick hangin' out like a puppy lookin' to get a treat."

"Okay, that was a horrible ima-"

"On top of all this," he cuts in, "you reek of desparation. You were ridin' on this first attempt to get rid of me, and now you're rackin' your neglected brain for another attempt. Preferably one that will question your mental state." He fixes a cold stare on Davis - actually, is it cold? He can't tell with the fucking shades in the way. "Honestly, the only reason I stopped myself from thinkin' I was in a stripper's house was the lack of body glitter and _select decor_. Need to up your game, Lalonde."

Davis stares at him, letting what he said sink in. Once it does, his lip twitches into a small sneer. "I don't know if I should be insulted, or if I should be applauding you," he admits quietly. Bro only offers a shrug, turning his attention back to the TV while Davis lets the silence settle once more. He goes over Bro's reasons once again, frowning to himself, and turns to the TV as well.

It isn't until half an hour later, when he's finally given in and crossed a leg over the other, that he decides to ask, "What kind of shit follows the name 'Bro Strider'?"

Bro's reply is immediate, without hesitation or shame. "Porn."

It takes everything in Davis's entire being to not laugh, choke on his own breath, and feel turned on. "Porn?"

"Porn."

More silence, this one only lasting a few seconds. "What kind?"

That earns him a small laugh. One that says he most likely hasn't. "Puppet."

"Oh my God,  _no_." Davis is quick to stand, throwing his hands up to ward the man on the couch back. Fuck no; he is  _not_ having a puppet-lover watching out for his skinny ass at all hours of the day. "You're fucking joking, right?"

Bro turns to him again, this time raising a brow and shooting him a disappointed frown. "Does it look like I'm fuckin' jokin'?"

No. No, it does not. But Davis can hope he's joking. He can dream...

He turns on his heel, giving Bro the bird as he does so, and announces that he's going to spend the rest of the day in the pool. He knows Bro will follow, since that's what his God damn job requires him to do, but he chooses to ignore him as much as he can by jogging outside (Jesus tapdancing Christ, that heat!), diving into the pool, and then floating around in the deeper end. Bro watches from the sidelines, occasionally glancing around the huge yard and doing a 360 to get a good look at the house. Davis does his best to ignore him even more, but finds it difficult with the combination of slowly-surfacing childhood nightmares and Bro's cautious steps toward his spot.

So he's got to up his game? That can easily be done - streaking wasn't the biggest thing he thought of. Then again, if Bro's name brings up porn, he's going to have to either avoid kinky stuff, or really home in on them.

Instantly his mind goes to the little red dress Roxy had gotten him as a mock gift. He's pretty sure he's still got the makeup she'd given him, too, and that a few of his sisters' things are still here from their last stay.

He dunks himself under the water, smirking to himself, and decides on his next plan. There's no way Bro can anticipate  _this_ plan.


End file.
